THE TOWER OF LAHNECK.
A PARAPHRASE.
Perched on a rock, a river at its base,
Stands Castle Lahneck. 'Twas a robber's keep
In the old time. An outlawed baron lodged
His train of knights, and hostages grew gray,
And victims plead and died, where limp grass waves
Like signals from the windows, or grows rank
Around a horrible pit digged deep beneath
The one tall tower.
One fair May afternoon,
An English stranger with her German guide
Trod breathlessly the difficult path that winds
Up to the ruined walls. The two were friends,
And with light laughter and familiar jests
Made the way pleasant, till they paused at last
Under the castle's shadow, to look down
On the blue Lahn that widens to the Rhine,
The Rhine itself beyond, the broad, fair scene
Outspread below. The English girl spoke first
After long silence; with clasped hands, and head
Thrown back, retreating slow, and with her eye
Measuring the lone high tower. "Oh, Margaret!
Eagles by daylight, and gray owls that blink
Under the o'er -bright moon, on yon great height
Blindly possess the wealth that would enrich
A human soul for ever!"
Through a maze
Of matted shrubbery they forced a path
Close to the ruin. A projecting wall
Sheltered a low-arched door, that, cloaked by vines,
And half way blocked with slippery stones, framed in
Intensest darkness. With light, fearless tread,
Ida, the blue-eyed stranger, leading through.
Crossed the rude threshold. Lo! a massy stair,
Far as the eye could follow, up the wall
Wound to the summit!
They were young and gay,
And never thought of danger. Ida first,
They scaled the steep flight, singing as they trod
Snatches of song. Their sweet notes filled the tower,
Making faint tinkling echoes as they dropt
Through its dim well of silence. Safe at last,
They stood upon the turret roof, and looked
Over the low broad parapet.
While one
With tears of joyous pride and outstretched hand,
Hamlet and river, vale and distant mount
Named rapidly, the other wept, oppressed
By the vague, restless sadness that to some
Comes linked with beauty.
Warning shadows grew
Long on the meadows while they talked of home,
Minding each other of the tedious path,
And yet they lingered. Margaret had crept
Close to the edge, and Ida, on her shoulder
Resting a light hand, forward leant with looks
Piercing the distance downward.
A strange dread
Thrilled each alike. Both from the parapet
Shrank with one impulse. From the vaults beneath
Crept a light, silent shudder. Was it time
For the roused earth to jostle from her breast
This sepulchre of crime? The turret rocked
Under their feet, and a loud thunderous roar
Rushed upward like the swift flame shot to heaven
Out of a crater! When it died away
In a deep trembling, all the ruin seemed
Alive with swarming echoes, but these dropped
Into their nooks, and from below again
Welled the deep silence.
Then the German rose,
And, tottering to the stairway, shrieked to see
Its last rude vestige, loosened by her tread,
Plunge through the void, and Ida, at the cry,
Lifting her wan face, to the chasm's edge
Stole fearfully. A black, fixed gloom half way
Filled the deep, well-like tower; gray threads of light
Drawn through the ragged crevices, or caught
On the vine branches, seemed the gossamer skein
The spider wove from wall to wall, or spread
Over the ivy. They who from its depths
Withdrew their looks, each in the other's eyes
Searching for comfort, read the sharp dismay
Neither had spoken.
Hiding in her soul
One hope that like a precious perfume might
Exhale in the disclosing, Ida crept
Back to the turret's' verge, and steadfastly
Screening her eyes from the descending sun,
Looked o'er the parapet. The wooded hills
Sprinkled with sunshine, and the vales between
Lapped in dim lovely shade, seemed overspread
With a faint ghastliness. Except the crow
Flapping above the forest, or the wings
Of the fierce eagles, or the bird that flew
Dipping along the river, nothing stirred
Over the landscape, and her straining gaze
Dropped listless downward.
Nay! upon the path
Tracking the mountain, some one stirred beneath,
Slowly approaching! Both together leant
Over the parapet, and called aloud.
Alas! the thin, light air refused to keep
The burden of their voices. He, below,
Never looked up. But could their frantic cries
Have fathomed the deep distance, it had then
Availed them not. For it was only Kranz,
The deaf and dumb from Lahnstein, seeking flowers,
To sell them at the inn.
They watched the twilight
As 'twere a deluge, while its flowing tides
Flooded the valleys, and crept up the front
Of the tall turret. Barge on barge had gone
Down the calm river; from the mill above
Forth came the miller, and walked loitering home
Under the mountain's shadow; peasants drove
Their cattle from the pasture; children played
In the near fields, and once a fisherman
Rowed through the castle's bright reflection cast
Over the Lahn. And no one paused for them.
The steersman had been busy at his helm,
The miller thought of home.
They had strayed far
That sunny day; none in the distant town
They left behind, knew whither, or would think
To seek them here.
The stars shone thick above.
The gloom below was studded here and there
By clustered village lights; the firefly lit
His lamp among the osiers. Ida still
Crouched by the parapet, her folded arms
Pillowing her head. She had awhile exchanged
Her sorrow for another's, and in thought
Mourned for her own lost self, and wearied time
With questions of her fate. Once Margaret spoke
Words of faint comfort, but she, looking up,
Answered with dreary smiling, "Hope thou not,
Unless we make, like rosy Ganymede,
Steeds of the eagles!" Now bright floods of light
Streamed from the windows of the Lahnstein inn
Over the waters. There the merry guests
Sat quaffing Rheinwein.
Midnight from the skies
Swept like a solemn vision. Ere the dawn,
A low white mist had settled on the vales,
And all that day no traveller came to look
At the lone ruin. They were wild with thirst,
Faint for the lack of food, when, still as dew,
Another eve dropt round them. Since the noon
Margaret had stirred not, but with blank cold eyes
Turned to the misty river, and hands locked
Over her knee, sat patient, though aloud
Ida wailed out, or, leaning from the tower,
Stretched forth her arms towards the distant home
Whence they had strayed, or, frozen by despair,
Prostrate lay silent till dismay again
Struck at her cowering soul. But now she rose,
And close upon its brink, looked steadily
Down the black chasm. From the vaults stole up
An odour of damp earth, against the walls
Beat the blind bats, and startled by her tread
An owl rushed upward with its boding scream.
And wheeling round the tower, fled fast and far
Toward the Black Forest. Whether she had leant
Over the gulf too hardily, and, seared
By the near flight of that unholy bird,
Swerved and stepped falsely, whether desperate fear
Then fixed the wavering purpose in her soul
God saw, but Ida, starting at a shriek
That drowned the owl's hoot, only looked to know
She was alone.
What desolate hours were hers,
Who knelt down in the starlight, stretching forth,
Her shuddering arms to Heaven, and from that time
Patiently suffered!
Was she saved at last?
What say the bargemen floating down the Lahn,
The boatmen at the Ferry, to and fro
Hourly plying, or the rustic groups
That loiter as they pass? To their belief,
Since from its heights the robber baron swept
With his hawk's eye the valleys, never foot
Has trod the ruined summit. Only, once,
Albert, the fisher, resting on his oar
After the day's toil, marvelled to discern
A wild she-eagle, 'wheeling from the clouds,
Sit screaming to her mate with outspread wings
Where the red sunset crowns the Tower of Lahneck!
Stands Castle Lahneck. 'Twas a robber's keep
In the old time. An outlawed baron lodged
His train of knights, and hostages grew gray,
And victims plead and died, where limp grass waves
Like signals from the windows, or grows rank
Around a horrible pit digged deep beneath
The one tall tower.
One fair May afternoon,
An English stranger with her German guide
Trod breathlessly the difficult path that winds
Up to the ruined walls. The two were friends,
And with light laughter and familiar jests
Made the way pleasant, till they paused at last
Under the castle's shadow, to look down
On the blue Lahn that widens to the Rhine,
The Rhine itself beyond, the broad, fair scene
Outspread below. The English girl spoke first
After long silence; with clasped hands, and head
Thrown back, retreating slow, and with her eye
Measuring the lone high tower. "Oh, Margaret!
Eagles by daylight, and gray owls that blink
Under the o'er -bright moon, on yon great height
Blindly possess the wealth that would enrich
A human soul for ever!"
Through a maze
Of matted shrubbery they forced a path
Close to the ruin. A projecting wall
Sheltered a low-arched door, that, cloaked by vines,
And half way blocked with slippery stones, framed in
Intensest darkness. With light, fearless tread,
Ida, the blue-eyed stranger, leading through.
Crossed the rude threshold. Lo! a massy stair,
Far as the eye could follow, up the wall
Wound to the summit!
They were young and gay,
And never thought of danger. Ida first,
They scaled the steep flight, singing as they trod
Snatches of song. Their sweet notes filled the tower,
Making faint tinkling echoes as they dropt
Through its dim well of silence. Safe at last,
They stood upon the turret roof, and looked
Over the low broad parapet.
While one
With tears of joyous pride and outstretched hand,
Hamlet and river, vale and distant mount
Named rapidly, the other wept, oppressed
By the vague, restless sadness that to some
Comes linked with beauty.
Warning shadows grew
Long on the meadows while they talked of home,
Minding each other of the tedious path,
And yet they lingered. Margaret had crept
Close to the edge, and Ida, on her shoulder
Resting a light hand, forward leant with looks
Piercing the distance downward.
A strange dread
Thrilled each alike. Both from the parapet
Shrank with one impulse. From the vaults beneath
Crept a light, silent shudder. Was it time
For the roused earth to jostle from her breast
This sepulchre of crime? The turret rocked
Under their feet, and a loud thunderous roar
Rushed upward like the swift flame shot to heaven
Out of a crater! When it died away
In a deep trembling, all the ruin seemed
Alive with swarming echoes, but these dropped
Into their nooks, and from below again
Welled the deep silence.
Then the German rose,
And, tottering to the stairway, shrieked to see
Its last rude vestige, loosened by her tread,
Plunge through the void, and Ida, at the cry,
Lifting her wan face, to the chasm's edge
Stole fearfully. A black, fixed gloom half way
Filled the deep, well-like tower; gray threads of light
Drawn through the ragged crevices, or caught
On the vine branches, seemed the gossamer skein
The spider wove from wall to wall, or spread
Over the ivy. They who from its depths
Withdrew their looks, each in the other's eyes
Searching for comfort, read the sharp dismay
Neither had spoken.
Hiding in her soul
One hope that like a precious perfume might
Exhale in the disclosing, Ida crept
Back to the turret's' verge, and steadfastly
Screening her eyes from the descending sun,
Looked o'er the parapet. The wooded hills
Sprinkled with sunshine, and the vales between
Lapped in dim lovely shade, seemed overspread
With a faint ghastliness. Except the crow
Flapping above the forest, or the wings
Of the fierce eagles, or the bird that flew
Dipping along the river, nothing stirred
Over the landscape, and her straining gaze
Dropped listless downward.
Nay! upon the path
Tracking the mountain, some one stirred beneath,
Slowly approaching! Both together leant
Over the parapet, and called aloud.
Alas! the thin, light air refused to keep
The burden of their voices. He, below,
Never looked up. But could their frantic cries
Have fathomed the deep distance, it had then
Availed them not. For it was only Kranz,
The deaf and dumb from Lahnstein, seeking flowers,
To sell them at the inn.
They watched the twilight
As 'twere a deluge, while its flowing tides
Flooded the valleys, and crept up the front
Of the tall turret. Barge on barge had gone
Down the calm river; from the mill above
Forth came the miller, and walked loitering home
Under the mountain's shadow; peasants drove
Their cattle from the pasture; children played
In the near fields, and once a fisherman
Rowed through the castle's bright reflection cast
Over the Lahn. And no one paused for them.
The steersman had been busy at his helm,
The miller thought of home.
They had strayed far
That sunny day; none in the distant town
They left behind, knew whither, or would think
To seek them here.
The stars shone thick above.
The gloom below was studded here and there
By clustered village lights; the firefly lit
His lamp among the osiers. Ida still
Crouched by the parapet, her folded arms
Pillowing her head. She had awhile exchanged
Her sorrow for another's, and in thought
Mourned for her own lost self, and wearied time
With questions of her fate. Once Margaret spoke
Words of faint comfort, but she, looking up,
Answered with dreary smiling, "Hope thou not,
Unless we make, like rosy Ganymede,
Steeds of the eagles!" Now bright floods of light
Streamed from the windows of the Lahnstein inn
Over the waters. There the merry guests
Sat quaffing Rheinwein.
Midnight from the skies
Swept like a solemn vision. Ere the dawn,
A low white mist had settled on the vales,
And all that day no traveller came to look
At the lone ruin. They were wild with thirst,
Faint for the lack of food, when, still as dew,
Another eve dropt round them. Since the noon
Margaret had stirred not, but with blank cold eyes
Turned to the misty river, and hands locked
Over her knee, sat patient, though aloud
Ida wailed out, or, leaning from the tower,
Stretched forth her arms towards the distant home
Whence they had strayed, or, frozen by despair,
Prostrate lay silent till dismay again
Struck at her cowering soul. But now she rose,
And close upon its brink, looked steadily
Down the black chasm. From the vaults stole up
An odour of damp earth, against the walls
Beat the blind bats, and startled by her tread
An owl rushed upward with its boding scream.
And wheeling round the tower, fled fast and far
Toward the Black Forest. Whether she had leant
Over the gulf too hardily, and, seared
By the near flight of that unholy bird,
Swerved and stepped falsely, whether desperate fear
Then fixed the wavering purpose in her soul
God saw, but Ida, starting at a shriek
That drowned the owl's hoot, only looked to know
She was alone.
What desolate hours were hers,
Who knelt down in the starlight, stretching forth,
Her shuddering arms to Heaven, and from that time
Patiently suffered!
Was she saved at last?
What say the bargemen floating down the Lahn,
The boatmen at the Ferry, to and fro
Hourly plying, or the rustic groups
That loiter as they pass? To their belief,
Since from its heights the robber baron swept
With his hawk's eye the valleys, never foot
Has trod the ruined summit. Only, once,
Albert, the fisher, resting on his oar
After the day's toil, marvelled to discern
A wild she-eagle, 'wheeling from the clouds,
Sit screaming to her mate with outspread wings
Where the red sunset crowns the Tower of Lahneck!